


Dopesick

by Bastet5



Series: The Wild Hunt [8]
Category: FBI: Most Wanted (TV 2020)
Genre: Backstory, Bikers, FBI: MW 1x01, Gangs, Gen, References to Drugs, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23682211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5/pseuds/Bastet5
Summary: March 2018A murder caught on 911. A woman's dying breath reveals her killer ... her own husband.The team is set on the hunt for a doctor with military training who is deeply involved with organized crime and the drug trade.When the fugitive is unafraid of collateral damage, the sooner the team finds him, the fewer people die.
Relationships: Clinton Skye & Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Wild Hunt [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678864
Comments: 73
Kudos: 11





	1. Saturday, Day 1

The stirring sounds of the soundtrack to Crimson Tide filled Kateri’s ears as her feet pounded down the pavement of Belmont. With time-change— _a pox on that invention—_ the sun was only now rising, even though it was getting close to 7am. What light there was filtered through the handful of trees, casting shadows across the pavement and the brownstones that lined many streets of the older neighborhood in the Bronx.

Kateri preferred to go running every morning before the city got the most bustling and crowded. While the streets of the primarily residential neighborhood were not that busy _quite_ yet, the owners of local family owned business and restaurants were already up and working, getting ready for another busy day in the “Little Italy of the Bronx.” The delicious smell of sweets and the scent of freshly ground coffee were already starting to fill the air, drifting from open doors letting in the crisp morning air.

Kateri wound down her run around 8am, and after cooling down and stretching, she headed for her favorite little coffee/pastry shop. It had been owned by the same Italian-American family for over 80 years, being passed down from generation to generation over the years. They technically did not open until 9am on Saturdays but were always happy to feed her coffee and a fresh bagel and talk while they made the store ready to open. Kateri usually went by the shop most mornings after her runs, if she were not off on a case.

Lorenzo, the grandson of the original owner and now the owner himself, was in the front sweeping, when Kateri appeared outside. He was an older man, probably in his 60s, with a friendly, craggy face and salt-pepper hair. He smiled widely and, putting aside his broom, hurried to the door.

 _Ernesta must be in the back with their workers_.

“Buongiorno, my dear,” Lorenzo said, opening the door and motioning her in, “Come in, come in.”

“Grazie,” replied Kateri, gratefully stepping inside. She only knew a handful of Italian words, and it was all due to this couple. “How are you today?”

“We are very well. Buisness has been very good this week,” Lorenzo replied, bustling behind the counter and calling for his wife, “Your usual?”

“Yes, please,” Kateri replied, slipping into one of the tall seats at the counter and checking her phone quickly out of habit. She kept her phone on vibrate in one of the tightest pockets in her pants, but when she was running, she still did not always feel it when it went off.

No calls. _Yay. No more scum bags have done bad enough sleaze-ball worthy things to give us another hunt yet, though it’s still early_.

About ten days had passed since the end of the hunt for Thomas Gilman, a family annihilator who had slit his own children’s throats and killed their mother, slitting her throat and then shooting her for good measure. After a nearly week-long hunt with too much collateral damage, the team had finally caught up with him in East Eden, and the fugitive had been captured—with the loss of one arm—though it had been a close call for Jess.

There had been training and paperwork— _paperwork is like death and taxes, always hated, always present_ —since that hunt, but unusually there had been a longer than usual break between hunts. _Not that I’m complaining. Not in the slightest!!!!_

Ernesta appeared out of the back. There was a smudge of flour in her hair, and her lined face was smiling. Grey hair was pulled back in a neat bun and covered in a hair net. “Buongiorno, Kateri.”

Kateri smiled back, “Buongiorno.”

Ernesta’s smile widen, and her eyes twinkled, “Your pronunciation is better, but it still needs some work.”

Kateri laughed, her smile fond. _She reminds me of Mother. Something about the lilt in her voice and the smell of spices. Maybe the laugh, too._ “I shall attempt to rectify that.”

Her own mother had died in the same car accident that had killed her father in 1995. Kateri had only been about eight years old when her parents died, and after over twenty years had passed, her memories of them were dim. Most of what she knew or remembered about them came more from pictures and family stories than actual memories.

Kateri had moved to Belmont about three years earlier, after she had joined Jess’ team. Her new apartment was only fifteen miles from HQ and within running distance of some of her old Bronx haunts. She had met Lorenzo and Ernesta at church (the three went to the same parish). The first time Ernesta had introduced herself, something about her had triggered faint memories of Kateri’s mother, and the agent had been fond of the couple ever since. The bakery, church, and her volunteering through the church had become Kateri’s main links to life outside of work. Granted, she also did spend a considerable amount of time off-duty with her teammates.

_We’re basically one big happy family._

_Finally, a work-life balance._

_Isn’t the camp counsellor pleased?_ Kateri was not fond of therapists or shrinks she periodically had to see, and she was even less fond of admitting when they were right.

Lorenzo set a steaming cup of coffee and a freshly baked bagel in front of her. Kateri reached for the money she had put in her pocket for the express purpose of paying for her breakfast, but as happened several times a week, Lorenzo waved away the offer of payment and admonished her to eat before it went cold.

Kateri stayed at the bakery until it opened for the day at 9am, and then as the sign was switched from closed to open, she started to think about what to do next.

_Head home for a shower._

_Then go shopping or do laundry and clean the house and go shopping later?_

_Hmmmmmm..._

Any plans for the day were derailed when her phone buzzed once with an incoming text. Kateri pulled her phone out and thumbed it open. It was group text from Jess: they had a case.

Kateri took the last sip of her coffee, which had started to grow cold, and rose, “Work. I’ve gotta run. Thanks as always.”

“Of course,” replied Ernesta, who had just finished helping a customer at the register, “Be safe.”

“I’ll do my best, as always,” Kateri replied, slipping on her coat, “but say a prayer for me at mass tomorrow.”

 _I do my best, but disasters happen anyway. I certainly have the scars to prove it, and so do the others_.

“I always do.” The other woman replied.

* * *

Because she had been out when the message arrived and had to go home to get her go-bag and her truck, Kateri was one of the last to arrive at HQ. Kenny had just arrived also and was just climbing from his jeep, when Kateri parked a few spaces down.

“Morning, Kat,” he hollered amid banging noises as he went looking for something in the somewhat organized chaos that was his trunk.

“Morning, Kenny,” Kateri replied, locking her car and heading toward the door into the team’s muster room, “I see we’re both running late today.”

“I was out doing laundry,” Kenny replied, “The one in my apartment’s busted. What’s your excuse?”

“Fun, fun. I was out in Little Italy getting breakfast.”

 _I hope I didn’t forget anything. Go-bag was already packed, and I checked it the other day. Gun, check. Duh! Back-up gun, check_. _Boot knife, check. Gauze roll, check…._

“Ah, actual fun!” With a few long strides, Kenny caught up to her and got the door for her.

“Thanks.”

The rest of the team had already arrived and were in the process of finishing gathering supplies. Friendly greetings were exchanged by all along with a few grumbles about the loss of Saturday plans. She had had no important plans to disrupt—cleaning and shopping had been her only tasks for the day—but Kateri was glad to have some company, _though for any other reasons besides some low-life did something awful again would have been preferable_.

A few minutes after Kateri and Kenny arrived, one of Hana’s computer made a dinging sound, and the tech specialist threw the most-wanted poster for the team’s latest fugitive up onto the boards. A minute after that, SAC Castille arrived.

Their fugitive was Justin Brock, a doctor with military training who was wanted for First Degree Murder and Unlawful Flight to Avoid Persecution.

_Military training, ugh._

_A doc??? So much for the Hippocratic oath!_

“Has ties to at least one known gang,” Kateri noticed with interest. She was glad for a case with gang ties. That meant she would be of more use to the team.

“The Criminal Investigation Division put Dr. Brock on the Most Wanted List this morning. The headlines are ‘Two Homicides and a Fugitive with the Resources and Means to Flee the Jurisdiction,’” said Castille, beginning the briefing.

“Not to mention the medical skills to set himself up in a foreign country,” added Jess, handing over a mug of coffee to the SAC.

Kateri starred at the screen, fingers drumming on her chin. _If he knows the local language sure. With access to cash, no compunctions or morals, and med skills, he could also set himself up with about any major street gang or crime family in this country, too_.

“And the unlawful flight warrant should be here any minute. In terms of the number of fugitives who made our Most Wanted List,” Castille continued, her steps taking her toward the door out to the parking garage. “I did not check where Brock stands.”

“He’s number 524 on the hit parade,” Hana put in, rising from her desk and making for the back of the room to get something.

“But who’s counting?” Joked Kenny.

“Well, I look forward to this Task Force putting him on this list,” concluded Castille, motioning toward the glass case next to the door which contained the posters of the 29 fugitives the team had itself put away.

Castille departed, and Jess turned to look at the screens. Kenny had headed for the ‘kitchen’ area and was making himself something, while Hana had returned to her desk and finished giving the team the run-down of what was known so far about Brock and the case.

“Brock found his wife in the kitchen shot twice by the intruder. He then finished her off with the intruder’s gun,” said Hana.

Kateri shook her head and made a face. _Talk about messed up. Gives a new meaning until ‘death do us part.’ Sheesh!_

“But get this,” Hana continued, “Mrs. Brock managed to call 911 on her cell. The operator heard her identify Brock before he shot her.”

“Bummer for Brock!” Said Kenny, which made Kateri make a half-muffled snort of laughter from where she was pulling a couple final things from her locker and trying to not get in her partner’s way as he packed, too.

Kateri had thought she was fully packed and ready to leave … _until_ she saw the notice about Brock having gang ties. Depending on what trees exactly she might need to start shaking, her methods for getting that info differed. Thus, a make-up bag with a few extra goodies was added to her duffle bag along with an extra jacket and a small case with two pairs of fake glasses.

_It's amazing how much different you can look with just a few small touches._

“When the Newburgh cops turned up fifteen minutes later, Brock was gone, and the family safe was cleaned out.”

“So, tell me about the intruder,” Jess asked, when Hana stopped.

“The late Glenn Eriks. Priors for burglary and weapons possession. Associated with a local biker gang.”

Kateri had finished packing her extras and maneuvered around her partner to get close enough to the screens to see the new info Hana had flicked up. The biker gang this dude was associated with was the Forsaken Sons.

 _Forsaken Sons. Forsaken Sons._ Kateri’s fingers went back to drumming on her chin. _Biker gangs aren’t my thing, but I know that name. Why do I know them?_

Jess looked over his shoulder at Kateri, “Forsaken Sons, do you know them, Kat?”

She nodded and then made a face and added a so-so gesture with one hand, “Know of them, boss, more than know them. Biker gangs weren’t exactly my thing, but I know this one for some reason, though I can’t remember why. I should have some trees that I can shake.”

“Good. Any info you can get could be helpful,” Jess replied and turned back to Hana, “And Brock’s family?”

“Step-daughter. This was a second marriage for him. Divorced his first wife twelve years ago.”

“Where are we on the UFAT warrant?” Asked Jess, walking around the table and back toward the screens.

“Just got in,” replied Clinton’s voice from straight behind Kateri. She jumped … just slightly … and sidestepped with an apologetic smile to let her partner past. “We’re good to go.”

The team started straggling out toward the cars and getting their gear stowed. Jess and Barnes were the last two out, and as they exited, Jess began parceling out assignments.

“We’re looking for girlfriends, boyfriends, anyone with a personal or business hook with Brock. Hana, deep dive on background, social media, sites for naughty husbands. CROSBY …”

Kateri bit her lip to keep from laughing at the way Kenny’s head snapped around with a ‘who me’ look in his eyes.

“If you could put that protein bar down long enough…”

“Hey, I’m a growing boy,” Kenny play-protested.

“Did you say you have a growing b**t?” Asked Hana, as usual taking the chance to play snip at her usual snark companion. Her words gained her a beaming smile and an eye roll.

“Check Brock’s phone records,” Jess continued, “texts, emails. Clinton, malpractice suits, financials, side-business. Kat, look into this connection with the Forsaken Sons. I want to know what Brock’s done and who’s he done it with. Barnes and I’ll start with the step-daughter.” Jess closed the car-door with a thud, drawing back everyone’s attention when they had started turning toward their own cars, “Don’t underestimate this fugitive. He might look like a foot doctor who’s in over his head, but he got the drop on an ex-felon and executed his wife in cold blood. Skill and depravity. We have to consider him capable of anything.”

* * *

“So,” said Clinton, once they were on the road, “I have a number of calls I need to make, but I can do them from anywhere. Where do you need to go to start shaking trees?”

“Back to the Bronx,” Kateri replied, “Biker gangs aren’t my thing. Street gangs and mob families are, so I’ll start with my usual sources and see if they know anything. If they don’t, then I’ll get creative.”

“Claremont Park as usual?”

Kateri nodded, realized that her partner probably wouldn’t see the gesture since _he’s actually focused on the road in front of him like he should be_ , and added verbally, “Yes, please.”

Clinton knew the route well by now—they’d certainly taken it often enough over the last couple of years—and headed north from HQ up FDR Drive to the Willis Avenue Bridge. Once they were in the West Bronx, it was a short jaunt up 87 from the bridge until you got to 95 opposite Washington Heights. He got off at Webster Avenue and stopped in the McDonalds parking lot across from Claremont Park.

“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Clinton, once the car was parked.

“You ask me this every time,” replied Kateri, unbuckling, a crinkle of amusement around her dark eyes, “You have calls to make, and Billy will be more willing to talk without company. I’m safe here.”

Clinton shook his head, looking skeptical, “And you give me the same answer every time, and I’m still not convinced or happy about you not having back-up.”

“Billy would have the hides of anyone who hurts me, and I’m not exactly walking in there with my eyes closed. He’s helped me a lot over the years, but it doesn’t mean I trust him one whit.”

“He might have their hides, but you might still be dead. Just be careful, kid,” his voice softened slightly, “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Always do my best,” replied Kateri. She climbed from the car and, with a quick wave good-bye, crossed the parking lot with long strides. Finding an opening in the traffic, she bolted across Clay Avenue and then headed south toward the basketball court, burying her hands in her coat pockets and tucking her chin into the scarf wrapped around her neck.

 _At least I remembered a warmer jacket this time_. Considering the fact that the temperature was currently below 40 with a nice gusty wind, Kateri had forgone her usual leather jacket for a thicker lined coat that actually had a hood.

Despite the chill of the morning, the basketball court was occupied by a mix of people, and a vigorous, fast-paced game was ongoing. Some of the players looked more like prep-school boys, while others would have been prime targets for racist cops. Kateri scanned the crowd of players, looking for faces she recognized. Finally, she spotted a familiar face. Off to one side was standing a tall, well put-together black man, who was alternating shouting instruction and imprecations towards the players. After a minute, he looked up and caught sight of Kateri, standing by the entrance to the court. He nodded. A few moments later a teenager was dashing off the court and up the street.

_Now I wait. My job involves a lot more waiting than most people probably think the FBI do. Life isn’t like one of those cop shows on TV._

Kateri turned away from the court and headed back toward the steps that led up from the street. She took a seat and prepared to wait. The runner was sent, so Billy would either be there soon or one of his associates would come if he was too busy to talk with her.

Her wait was unusually long.

It was nearly half-an-hour before a tall Hispanic man came striding up the street, the teenager who had been dispatched from the basketball game to go find him trotting to keep up. A deep scar bisected the left side of the man’s face, giving him a very severe appearance, and he had an air about him that screamed danger.

_Here we go. Finally get this show on the road._

As usual Kateri was both somewhat pleased and much more discomfited to need to come to Billy for help. As had been alluded to during the Gilman case not that long before, Billy—known to the cops as Billy “the Viper” Suarez—was the reason that Kateri knew and had experienced what she called “the Little Brother Complex” before.

On one side, Billy Suarez was the long-time leader of the Underground Crew, a vicious street gang that controlled a large chunk of the West Bronx. He was a quick and dirty streetfighter, who was ruthless and cruel with any who crossed him. Drug running, weapons trafficking, auto theft, you name it, the Crew was involved with it, except for sex trafficking. Large amounts of money gained from those operations were then funneled back into the community.

_Mobster with the heart of gold is a thing of TV, but there is occasionally some honor among thieves._

_Pablo Escobar, anyone?_

On the other side, Billy was one of Kateri’s childhood friends, playmates, and protectors. He had grown up in the West Bronx, not far from the territory he now controlled. After her parents died, one of the foster homes Kateri had been placed had been in the same area, and the two had met, when Billy had protected her from a school bully who had taken offense to Kateri’s skin-color and trouble with languages.

_Try growing up in a tri-lingual household, and you’d mess up which you answered in, too._

Kateri had reminded Billy of his own sister, so he had said, and had been promptly taken under the older boy’s wing. He had already been gaining a reputation by that point, and after that nobody dared touch her. She’d helped him and some others with their homework and widened her circle of ‘friends’ among the somewhat less than reputable denizens of the local neighborhood, ‘friendships’ that would later become useful in her later career.

_It sounds cliched, but even the worst of people have to grow up with someone._

_It’s rare that they’re completely isolated._

Billy knew Kateri was an FBI agent, and she had told him point-blank multiple times that if he or any of his minions did anything illegal in her presence, she would arrest him or them. _All he did was laugh and pat me on the head_. Despite her being a “Feebie,” Billy still had a soft-spot for her and kept her under his protection. Anyone of his local gang who touched her was dead meat. _I still might be dead, but I wouldn’t be the only one_. And as long as any information she wanted wouldn’t blow back on him personally or on the Crew, Billy was always happy to spill the beans on any other local crews, even the one or two nominally connected to the Crew.

“Morning, chica,” Billy said. He waved off his side-kick and took a seat on the steps beside Kateri.

“Mornin’, Billy,” Kateri replied. _As grateful as I am for his help when we were kids, knowing the horrid things his gang has done and needing his help makes me want to take a shower_. Whenever there was finally enough evidence to take Billy down, part of her hoped to be the one to snap on the cuffs.

“So, what you need this fine morning?” Billy asked, leaning back so that he was sprawled across the steps.

Kateri pulled her phone out and opened a picture of Dr. Brock. She tilted her phone so Billy could see, “I don’t suppose you know him or know of him.”

Billy cocked his head, studied the picture for a few seconds, and then shook his head, “Nahh. Don’t know him or of him. Looks like a do-gooder, pansy, though.”

One eyebrow crawled its way toward her headline. “You really don’t know, or you know but don’t want to talk.”

“The former,” replied Billy with an air of vague affront.

Kateri rolled her eyes and swiped left on her screen until she came up with picture of Glenn Eriks, “Didn’t figure you would, but thought I’d ask just in case. Know this guy?”

This look took only a few second also, but this time Billy’s reaction was entirely the opposite. “Yeaaa, I know him,” he growled, “Forsaken Sons thug. Why?”

“Because,” Kateri replied, swiping back to the doc’s picture, “your do-gooder, pansy got the drop on and murdered your thug here.”

Billy raised an eyebrow. He suddenly looked interested, instead of bored. “Now you’re talkin. What do you want to know?”

“Does the Crew have a connection to the Forsaken Sons?”

Billy shook his head, “Our territories aren’t anywhere close enough for that, but they’re trouble.” _Interesting. Billy has almost no compunctions, so if he says they’re trouble, insert shudder here_.

“And by nowhere close, you mean?” Kateri asked. The Underground Crew was primarily just a Bronx gang, but under Billy’s leadership, the Crew had been gaining in power steadily for years. She was quite sure they had contacts and did work well outside New York City.

“As in mid-state. Nowhere close.”

“And yet you know about them?”

“Don’t ya know, chica. I have connections,” Billy replied with a smile that was more than half-smirk.

Kateri rolled her eyes, “So the Forsaken Sons and the Underground Crew have no connections, but you really don’t like each other anyway. What’s the word on the street? I’m sure you have heard something…”

A nod.

“Anything interesting?” Kateri asked, feeling like rolling her eyes again. Sometimes Billy felt helpful and was willing to spill whatever he knew without prompting. Other times, getting info out of him was like pulling teeth.

_Why would a Forsaken Sons thug be at the house of a foot doctor with unknown gang ties???_

“I don’t know a lot,” Billy cautioned, “But word is that they’ve been moving a lot of dope recently. A lot. They’ve always been big on the drug scene, but they’ve been moving more recently, comin’ up in the world. … Some might or might not have ended up in the city.”

 _The web deepens_.

Kateri raised an eyebrow, “What kind of dope?”

“The good stuff.”

 _Coming from a Crew member, ‘the good stuff’ could mean almost anything but weed or the stuff that is likely to kill you as give you a trip if you touch it_.

“Any idea who their supplier is for that much dope?”

Billy shook his head, “Must be someone good.”

_Like a doctor?_

Kateri spent a while longer trying to wrangle any helpful intel out of her old ‘friend’ before finally admitting she probably had about as much as she was going to get for the day.

“You’ll give me a call if you hear anything more?” she asked, rising from the cold ground and shaking the pins and needles from the foot that had gone to sleep.

Billy nodded, rising also, “Sure, chica. I hear somethin’ useful. I’ll call you.”

* * *

Kateri and Billy parted ways, and Kateri returned to the McDonald’s parking lot and her partner’s car. Clinton was still on the phone, but he looked up when he saw her approaching. She gave him a smile, a thumb’s up and then jerked the same thumb toward the McDonalds and raised an eyebrow. All that was to be interpreted, “Success. All’s good. I’m going to McDonald’s. Want something?” Clinton shook his head.

Kateri used the bathroom quickly, bought some coffee (as much to warm her hands as to drink), and returned to the car. Clinton had just finished a call, when she climbed inside the wonderfully warm car and gave an unintentional dramatic shiver.

“Anything helpful?” Clinton asked, his attention half on scribbling notes on a pad of paper balanced on one leg. His laptop was balanced on the other leg.

“Billy knows Eriks, but not Brock. The Crew doesn’t do anything with the Forsaken Sons, but Billy’s not a fan. The Forsaken Sons’ territory is primarily mid-state, nowhere close to here, but they have a wide sphere of influence that stretches down to the city. They are big on the drug scene and have been for years, but especially recently, they have been moving a lot of stuff, progressively more openly. Billy didn’t specify what kind of drugs, only said ‘the good stuff.’”

Clinton made a non-committal sound of interest, as he finished writing something.

“Well, I just spent the last ninety minutes on the phone with the medical board and the county clerk’s office, and there have been no malpractice suits or complaints to the board about Brock. He’s as clean as a whistle from that angle, but I’ve got more checking to do.”

“Might look clean as a whistle, but something is rotten about this guy,” noted Kateri.

Whatever reply Clinton might have made was cut off by his phone buzzing with an incoming text.

“It’s Jess,” he said, “They want us in Newburgh.”

“I’ll drive. You can keep working. I might shake some more trees later, but I have all the information I can get quickly for now.”

* * *

The two quickly bought some food from McDonalds to eat in the car, since it was already noon, and then got on the road. Fighting afternoon traffic, it was another hour-and-a-half before Clinton and Kateri arrived at Dr. Brock’s clinic. They were the last to arrive, but the trip had least been useful, allowing Clinton to check Brock’s financials and look for any side-business.

 _Zilch to the latter, and clean as a bell to the former. This guy’s almost too squeaky clean_.

Dr. Brock’s clinic was swarming with cops, assorted other FBI agents, and the rest of the team. Jess and Barnes met them outside and led the way toward where Hana and Kenny were working.

“His legal and financial records are clean as a whistle. No complaints with the medical board,” Clinton announced, summarizing the past three hours of phone calls and teeth pulling.

Jess looked over at Kateri. She nodded, indicating that she had learned some useful stuff, but then mouthed “not here.”

“And nothin’ popped on his phone records,” added Kenny, who was leaning on the receptionist’s desk studying his tablet, “texts, emails. They’d put my Grandma to sleep.”

_How very you of you to say that._

“His social media put me to sleep,” inserted Hana, who was behind the desk doing fancy tech things to the clinic’s computers and files, “I’ve never seen so many pictures of shrimp cocktails.”

 _Definitely how very you of you to say that_. Kateri bit her lip to keep from snickering.

“Bottom line,” Kenny concluded, “There’s no sign he was going to step out on his wife.”

“But I don’t see how he’d have time,” noted Hana wryly, “he was seeing 50 to 70 patients a day.”

“A day??” Asked Kateri incredulously. _I cannot have heard you right. 8-hour work day. That’s like 6 to 9 patients an hour. How do you even treat someone in 10 minutes or less or even have time to stop to rest, eat, or use the bathroom?_

Hana nodded, adding, “There must be a lot of bunions in Newburgh.”

_What is a bunion exactly? Do I want to know?_

Clinton had gone over to speak with the nurse, and the rest of the team came over to join the conversation.

“This is Ms. Augustin, Brock’s nurse.”

Jess introduced the rest of the team, “Thanks for coming in. This must be a shock for you.”

The hallway was narrow, and the entrance from the reception area was small, Clinton, Jess, and the nurse taking up most of the space. Kenny had gone down the hall a few yards to look at the pictures plastered over one wall, so Kateri drifted down the hall to see what had caught his attention: pictures of Brock in uniform and medical awards/certificates.

 _Doesn’t seem especially noteworthy to me_.

“Yes, very much.” From a quick glance, Kateri agreed that the nurse seemed genuinely shaken.

“Have you been with him long?” Asked Barnes.

“Since he opened the clinic four years ago,” Ms. Augustin replied.

“We need to see Dr. Brock’s office,” instructed Barnes, and the nurse turned to lead the three down the hallway.

“He was a two-strapper in the 12th Infantry,” Kenny noted, his gaze fixed firmly on the pictures of Brock in uniform. He and Kateri stepped back to let the nurse and their teammates passed, “My regiment. Served in Bosnia.”

“He is very proud of his service,” the nurse replied, opening Brock’s office door.

_Never would have known it. Don’t slip on my dripping sarcasm._

“We noticed,” Barnes added ironically, as the team filed in behind her.

Brock’s office was small with several large pieces of furniture taking up much of the floor space. More pictures of Brock in uniform were plastered over the large wall behind his desk, and a Bronze Star was set in a prominent position on the desk itself. With six people in the room, the space began to get somewhat claustrophobically small, so Kateri caught her partner’s eye, made a face, and then took up a position by the doorway, while the others searched.

Never let it be said that the team was not thorough. Every inch of Brock’s office was searched. The files on his desk were looked through. Things that had fallen on the floor were examined, and every drawer was searched.

“What was in this drawer?” Jess asked, gesturing toward the desk, as Barnes crouched down to retrieve a crumpled piece of something.

“Cash,” Ms. Augustin replied, “A lot of his patients paid in cash.”

The crumpled piece of something in Barnes’ hands was revealed to be cash. What denomination it was, Kateri couldn’t make out.

“And Dr. Brock kept it all in his office?” Barnes asked, slight puzzlement on her face.

“They paid him directly,” the nurse replied, crossing her arms across her chest. She now seemed somewhat uncomfortable, “He liked to do his own bookkeeping. It’s not my area.”

Kateri was starting to get a hinky feeling. _And that didn’t seem the slightest bit unusual to you??_

Jess and Barnes exchanged pointed looks, as Clinton asked, pointing to a cabinet behind the desk, “What’s in here?”

“Prescription pads,” the nurse replied, fidgeting with her hands.

_Are you nervous because your office is full of FBI agents and your boss murdered two people, or is there something you don’t want us to know?_

“Is there a key?” Clinton asked, holding out one hand for the key, which the nurse brought him.

Kateri took a step further into the office so she could better see what was going on. _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_. The door was unlocked and opened, and the shelves that were supposed to be full of prescription pads were empty, entirely empty.

“I don’t understand. There were at least a hundred pads in there two days ago,” the nurse said.

_I’ve got a feeling where this is going._

_Biker gang moving lots of drugs._

_Doctor with no compunctions and lots of missing pads._

_Anyone see a connection here besides me?????_

Like he had read her mind, Jess noted, looking up from the patient files he had been perusing, “None of these files have any medical histories, no blood work, no X-Rays, no MRIs. What exactly did Dr. Brock do for his patients?”

“He treated them. They presented with ankle pain, foot pain.”

Kateri sighed and pinched the bridge of her noise in a rare, open display of annoyance.

_And you weren’t suspicious?_

_This has as many red flags as a bull baiting competition_.

“And he treated them without any tests? Or maybe it didn’t matter. He just wrote ‘em a prescription for painkillers,” Jess was not pleased.

The nurse got a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face.

 _Opioids would certainly fall under the good stuff in Billy’s definition_.

“Is that what this was, Ms. Augustin?” Jess asked, “An opioid pill-mill?”

“I don’t know,” the nurse shook her head, eyes wide and panicked, “I just did what Dr. Brock told me.”

_Ah, the old ‘I was just following orders’ defense._

_Like that’s worked so well in the past for a lot of people._

_You have a conscious. Use it, for heaven’s sake_.

Again, the agents exchanged pointed looks.

“And what was his fee for writing a script?” Asked Jess.

“His basic consultation was 300 dollars.”

 _50 to 70 patients a day. 300 bucks a patient. Good gracious, that’s a lot of money_.

“Just for writing his name?” Put in Barnes.

“Maybe he thinks he can bankroll his run by selling ‘scripts?” Wondered Clinton, glancing over at his partner.

Kateri made an agreeing face and nodded. _Definitely could be. With what Billy coughed up, the pieces are falling into place now. Brock could definitely bankroll himself doing that and set himself up most anywhere and have a near-automatic in with the local gang/mob/lowlife group of the area_.

Jess picked up Brock’s Bronze Star and studied it for a long moment, “Let’s start with his most loyal patients.”

Records in hand of Brock’s most previous patients, the team regathered in the parking lot. The other agents and cops were far enough away that the team could talk without being overheard.

“What did your contacts have to say?” Jess asked.

“Just went to see Billy. He usually has information he knows and is willing to cough up, and my other contacts take longer to get to.”

“He have anything useful?”

“He knows of Eriks, but not Brock,” replied Kateri, unzipping her jacket. The sun had come out fully, and the temps had warmed up in the last several hours. “The Crew doesn’t do anything with the Forsaken Sons, but Billy’s not a fan, so he was happy to spill what he knew, or at least some of it. The Forsaken Sons’ territory is primarily mid-state, nowhere close to here, but they have a wide sphere of influence that stretches down to the city. They are big on the drug scene and have been for years, but especially recently, they have been moving a lot of stuff, progressively more openly. Billy didn’t specify what kind of drugs, only said ‘the good stuff.’ After this,” she jerked her head in the direction of the doc’s office, “I definitely have my suspicions about this whole situation.”


	2. Sunday, Day 2

Barnes and Jess’ visit with one of Brock’s loyal patient, a middle-aged woman prematurely aged by injuries and her drug addiction, yielded a vital clue. Brock had his Newburgh clinic, but he also had another clinic in Pennsylvania. Getting the warrant took time, and it was not until mid-morning the next day that the team was able to raid Brock’s second clinic in Milford, not far across the state line.

The clinic was open for business when the raid began, which made everything 10 times more complicated. The agents had to search for Brock and deal with lots of people in the way at the same time. The Pennsylvania clinic seemed much the same as the New York one: walls plastered with pictures of Brock and his awards. No opposition met them, just lots of shocked faces and fearful gasps from the steps. For Kateri, clearing the exam rooms, moving from door to door at Clinton’s side, was a series of a practiced movements, even with all the distractions around them.

“There is no Doctor Brock here,” Kateri heard a nurse protest, as agents kept pouring into the clinic, “This is Doctor Alan Ashworth’s clinic.”

Considering all the pictures plastered over the walls, those were two names for the same person, one legal and one probably fake.

“He’s a back specialist,” the nurse’s voice came again, drifting down the hall.

The two finished clearing the hall, found all the rooms to be clear, and returned to their teammates, holstering their guns as they moved.

Hana was in the middle of an explanation of something, tablet in hand, fingers moving quickly across the screen, “A Pennsylvania medical license was issued to a Doctor Alan Ashworth two years ago.”

Kenny appeared from the back, returning from outside, “Brock’s car is out back. Engine’s cold.” He turned to the harried nurse, “He keep another car here?”

“An Audi,” the nurse’s voice shook.

“Color?” Kenny pressed roughly, in too big a hurry to be patient or nice.

“Silver.”

“I’ll get a BOLO out,” Kenny said, looking over at Jess, and then moving out of the way to make the call.

Kateri felt just a little sorry for the nurse. She seemed to be much less in the know-how even then Ms. Augustin back in New York, _who seemed to be more of the ‘I see nothing. I hear nothing’ variety_. Kateri stood tensely at her partner’s side. The adrenaline was still thrumming in her veins, and the fingers of her left hand drummed restlessly on the grip of her holstered Glock 19.

Jess and Barnes had moved into the doorway of a waiting room, full of very uneasy looking patients. Kateri moved up to join them, watch their backs, while her partner stayed by the desk.

_Everyone’s day just got upended, and nervous people do stupid things, and that’s not even talking about nervous people who are also druggies._

“Brock’s patients are going to be mighty disappointed,” Barnes said in a low tone as an aside to Jess, “They’re so many of them.”

And there were a lot, and Kateri could only see a small fraction of the people over the shoulders of her two teammates, the misfortune of being on the shorter side and having tall teammates. Young and old. Male and female. White, Hispanic, African American.

_Drugs are a vice that do not discriminate on who they drag down into the abyss._

“Enough to fill two clinics,” Jess noted, “Where does he find all these people?”

“If you’ve got the right connections, you know where to look …” Kateri replied, lowering her voice so only her two teammates would hear. She had seen similar things in her time undercover in the past. There were so many types of drugs—even ones, like pain pills, that could really help people at first—and once they got their hooks in you, you were in trouble before you fully comprehended what a hole you were in.

That there were so many people in the clinic on a Sunday of all days was slightly more surprising.

 _I’d usually be going to mass about now_.

Jess had a look on his face that indicated he was about to do a very Jess thing, and so it happened. He stepped forward into the waiting room and approached one of the waiting ‘patients.’ Barnes took a couple steps forward, shadowing him from a distance, and Kateri moved into the doorway, glancing back to look for her partner, who moved up to join her.

Kateri was torn between her unease about the situation— _what is the boss doing??_ —and her slight concern about being in a roomful of people that might have a connection, probably slight, to the Forsaken Sons, who from what Billy had said … and not said … did not get along with the Crew on the rare occasions they interacted in some way. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time in gang territory or being seen with the wrong people or a combination of both had gotten Kateri in trouble on more than one occasion. Once a few years back that had ended up with her nearly getting offed by a rival gang.[1] The previous year that had resulted in her getting arrested by the NYPD.[2]

 _And that was loads of fun—insert dripping sarcasm—but I got to see Clinton in lawyer mode for my troubles._ Her partner had a talent for thoroughly but politely dealing with bozos and giving people just enough rope to hang themselves on while they nattered on and on and on, and Clinton in lawyer mode was always fun to watch, almost as much fun as watching Hana and Kenny snarking back and forth.

_Alright, brain, back on track. You've got a job to do._

All that being said, Kateri was very appreciative of cases with gang connections so that she could be of more use to the team--she hated feeling like the weak link or like a bump on a log. Even so, on cases with gang connections, she also had to a bit more wary of who saw her face and in what context. Even in FBI garb, her non-descript looks usually worked in her favor, but _it’s better to be safe than sorry … or dead_.

“Good morning,” said Jess, approaching a nicely-dressed middle-aged woman with brownish skin who was sitting near the waiting room door, “Did you bring money for your appointment today?”

The woman nodded warily.

“Can I see it, please?” Jess asked, adding when she looked hesitant and even more wary, “Don’t worry: you’re not in any trouble.”

Yes, the patients had probably made some mistakes that had led them into this dark world, but once caught in the drug spiral, it was a hard pit to get yourself out of.

Kateri glanced around again at the wide array of people, waiting for the drugs Brock provided. _He needs to be keelhauled for facilitating this_.

The woman pulled a thin stack of neatly folded bills from her pocket and handed them to Jess, who started to flip through them.

“50-dollar bills,” said Barnes, “More low profile than Benjamins.”

Clinton stepped further into the room, moving counter-clockwise around the outside. Keeping one eye on Jess and Barnes, Kateri automatically moved to follow him, continuously scanning faces, watching body-language. Her hand was not resting on the grip of her gun like Clinton's was, but her hand was quite close, and she could draw in a split-second if she needed to.

“Alright folks, listen up,” Jess said, moving to address the whole crowd, “We’re not here to cause any trouble for you, but someone’s been taking advantage of your circumstances. You’re good people, who can help us do our job, and you’ll be on your way.”

Kenny returned from putting out the BOLO and drifted into the room, and Kateri took a half-step back to let him pass.

“300 dollars in fifty-dollar bills,” Jess continued, “Is that what everybody has?”

After a moment’s hesitation, everyone nodded, except for one guy off at the far end of the room. He looked cagey, and everything about him from his mannerisms to his dress to his posture screamed trouble. Kateri began automatically cataloguing his features and every movement that his hands made. She drifted a step closer to her partner, just close enough to casually bush his arm like she had bumped him accidentally _on-purpose_. Clinton knew the drill by know—Kateri had done the same thing multiple times before—and casually followed her gaze around the room until it landed on Mr. Likely Source of Trouble.

“Excellent, thank you," Jess was still talking, "Now, who gave you this money and sent you here to see the doctor?”

The response from the patients was not so helpful this time. Lots of downcast eyes and a few shrugs.

“Any takers?”

Still no response from the patients.

Then Kateri noticed that Jess’ attention had already fixed on Mr. Likely Source of Trouble in the corner. Jess moved across the room toward Mr. LST, and the others shadowed him from the edge of the room, wary eyes fixed on them both.

 _Don’t get so close, boss_. Kateri groaned, when Jess (un)intentionally kicked Trouble’s boot with his own as he stepped across the legs casually outstretched into the aisle. She knew her boss’ habits too well by now, and he still sometimes made her nervous for his safety

“I couldn’t help notice that some of the ladies were looking at you,” said Jess, starring down at Trouble, who looked like the type of guy Kateri would peg as a likely gang thug if she saw him on the streets.

“Maybe cause I’m good lookin’?” Trouble drawled back.

 _Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, suuuuuurrrrrrrrreeeeee_. Kateri internally rolled her eyes. Trouble was about as far from ‘good lookin’ as it was possible to be.

Jess snorted, his feelings on that comment clear even though his back was to Kateri. _Why must you keep blocking our sight-lines of the target, boss?????_ “You’re not that good lookin’. How’d you get here this morning?”

“I drove my pickup.” Trouble replied, his tone casual.

Kateri drifted another step to the left, careful not get so close to Kenny that he didn’t have room to move or draw, considering he was right-handed and she left-handed. She wanted a better angle on Trouble’s face for any clues she could draw of what he might be about to do.

“You left your hog at home?” Asked Jess.

 _Wait what???_ Trying to follow Jess' leaps of thought and deductions sometimes was difficult, especially when Kateri couldn't see all of what the boss was seeing.

There was a long beat of silence where Jess and Trouble just starred down each other, before Jess finished his Holmesian deduction, “The scuff marks on your boots are from a Harley gear-shifter…”

The tension in the room was starting to amp up. _If life were a TV show, there’d probably be stirring dramatic music right about now_.

“What’s that ink on your arm?” Asked Jess, reaching down and grabbing Trouble’s left wrist.

The music would have reached a crescendo. Trouble’s right hand, which had been in his lap, moved toward his pocket, then disappeared inside, and Kateri suddenly saw a flash of metal appear from within.

“Knife,” Kateri yelled, drawing her gun, at the same moment that Trouble lunged up from his chair, knife flashing down toward Jess.

For a moment, all was chaos, as Jess and Trouble struggled for control of the blade. All the agents had their guns drawn, but Jess and the target were much too close to even consider taking a shot, especially with all the other patients potentially in the line of fire. They were too close for even Clinton to try, and he was probably the best shot in the room even with a pistol and not his favored rifle. The whole situation was a nightmare.

After a short struggle, Trouble was knocked to the ground, and Kenny, who had lunged forward to help physically, was … a little too enthusiastic in ensuring that Trouble went down and stayed down, getting in several punches before Jess was able to call him off.

Trouble was roughly manhandled over, hands pulled behind his back. Clinton leaned down to retrieve the dropped knife, while Kateri, gun still drawn, covered him. The ink on Trouble’s arm, the ink that had caused him to explode and attack Jess, was a Forsaken Son’s tattoo.

_Why am I not surprised?_

“Forsaken Sons,” said Jess to himself, adding then to Kenny, “Don’t let him move.”

Jess rose from a crouch and looked across at Kateri. He made a gesture, and they stepped away from Trouble, “The intruder who shot Brock’s wife, what bike gang did he belong to?”

“Forsaken Sons,” Kateri replied.

The pieces had finally and totally fell into place. Now there was confirmation for what Kateri had been wondering since yesterday. Brock and the Forsaken Sons were in business together, and it was the bike gang which was recruiting people to get pills from the local pill-mill. The good news from that was that the team could more clearly see the way forward now.

After a few words to Barnes, Jess stated the bad news quite succinctly, “With partners like that, he’s got the means and the muscle to avoid capture.”

 _Bloody h**l_.

* * *

Working on tracking down the Forsaken Sons led the team from Milford, Pennsylvania (where Brock’s second clinic was) two hours north to Windsor, New York. Thankfully, after having mechanical problems during the previous case, the bus was thankfully now in good working order, because what it contained provided invaluable help. The tricked-out, high-tech bus that bore a vague resemblance to a mobile home was equal parts office, tech room, interrogation room, kitchen, and sleeping quarters, depending on the need of the moment. Having the bus again also meant that the entire team could work during the drive because someone else was driving the bus and someone else was bringing their cars up, too.

By early-afternoon, the team was settled outside Windsor in a conveniently located large parking lot (large enough for the bus, other FBI personnel, and a whole lot of cops) on the outskirts of the city. By late afternoon, progress had been made.

When Billy had said that the Forsaken Sons' main territory was nowhere near New York City and the Underground Crew, he had not been exaggerating. Windsor was several hours from New York, and it was more than a little disconcerting that the Crew’s web of know-how reached this far. Kateri was not so naive to think that Billy had gotten his intel only from those bringing the new cache of drugs into New York City, as he had insinuated.

 _However much help he is to me some days, the sooner someone can take him down the better_. Billy was always extremely careful that no one in his gang (himself included) ever said or did anything in front of her that could incriminate the Crew. Incriminate another gang, sure, have at it. Incriminate the Crew, nuh-uh, not if you liked living. Because of that, Kateri did not have enough to help the FBI or the NYPD bring down the Crew, as much as she wanted to.

Windsor had apparently been having quite a lot of trouble with the Forsaken Sons, and the local PD as well as the state police was more than happy to help.

“Gill Rickmen and the Forsaken Sons like to wrap themselves in the flag and ride in veterans’ parades. It’s just a cover for gun running, drugs, prostitution, but this connection with Dr. Brock, that’s a new one on us,” noted Lt. Ruddick, a scarily competent lady from the state police, as she laid out pictures of those people at said parades on one of the tables in the bus.

Kateri, who had settled down at the lone table on the opposite end of the van from the conference room, turned in her chair to see what was going on. The state and local cops had provided her with every shred of evidence about the Forsaken Sons that they could collect in a hurry, and she had been studying it almost constantly for the past several hours, only paying half-an-ear to what the others were saying.

“As near as we can tell,” Barnes began to explain, “the gang recruited addicts to a get a script for oxy from Brock, and then they’d walk the patient to a pharmacy to fill it. They’d give the patient a tip and sell the rest of the pills on the street.”

Clinton took up the narrative at that point, “Brock and his gang were clearing around 800 dollars’ worth of prescriptions 70 times a day for the last four years,”— _as evil as it is, you’ve got to admire their planning and organization to keep this going on for so long with no one finding out_ —“Brock was making 28 grand per day.”

Kateri had gotten up once a little bit earlier to double check her partner’s math for him, and she was still flabbergasted at the thought of making that much money A DAY! _Puts my salary to shame. I'd rather hurt for money than sink to that level, though_.

“Lilian Brock knew Rickman from her work with veterans before she married Brock,” added Hana, “she probably introduced them.”

“Maybe she found out Rickman and her husband were doing,” Barnes mused, “she wasn’t havin’ it, and Brock had her killed.”

 _Sounds like a plausible enough theory_ , Kateri thought to herself, as she reached up one hand to massage her forehead. A pounding headache had settled in right behind her eyes, and she was almost sick enough of it to take some medicine.

“His whole identity was wrapped up in this heroic image of a warrior-healer,” Jess countered, coming over toward Kateri's end of the bus, “His wife threatened that and sent his narcissism into a frenzy. I don’t think he’s going to do well without money and status. I think he’s going to look for a way to keep his business with Rickman going.”

 _Brock aside, Rickman’s not going to want to lose such a sweet deal, not after four years enjoying the benefits._ Kateri understood enough of how gang leaders thought to know that for sure, not that it took much understanding of the human condition and of human greed and love of money to conclude that.

“Brock prescribed over 3 million pills,” Barnes began, her voice getting more emphatic as she went on, “You’d think someone would have noticed and picked up the phone, the drug company or a pharmacist…”

 _You’d think, but there’s a gillion reasons why they wouldn’t_.

“Cha-ching,” said Kenny, speaking for the first time in a while. _Yep, money being the prime reason_. “They all had reason to look the other way.”

“And maybe keep lookin’ the other way,” added Jess, “if Brock is going to keep his business going, he’ll need pills. We need a visit with the local sales rep.”

Kateri swiveled back toward her laptop and tried to refocus on the pages upon pages upon pages of documents, witness reports, photos, tips, etc., etc. Her head, however, was being less cooperative, and just starring at the screen was making her headache worse. She almost felt a little dizzy. Even tuning out the surrounding conversations was hard, and she could usually do that easily.

She pushed her laptop back a few inches, propped her elbows on the table, and buried her face in her hands, trying to massage away her headache.

A few minutes later, a hand gently touched her shoulder. Kateri started slightly and looked up. Her partner had approached and was taking a seat on the other side of the table. _I never ever heard him come over_. He pushed a water bottle across to her.

“You okay?”

“It feels like there is a bloody pickaxe in my skull, and these bloody files aren’t helping.”

“Did you eat the food we left in the fridge for you?” Clinton asked, his face concerned.

Kateri tried to rewind her recent memories and remember through the blur of files, files, and more files. _Uhhhhhhh … I don’t remember._ “What time is it?” She finally asked instead.

Her partner’s look shifted from concern to fond exasperation, “I’ll take that as a no. Drink that.” He replied, pushing the water closer and then getting back up.

Kateri obediently grabbed the water and took several sips while she waited. Considering the amount of coffee she had been drinking, some water wouldn’t hurt anything. There was the sound of a few doors banging and a microwave running, and then Clinton returned a minute later carrying her lunch: a tuna sandwich from a local shop.

 _Now that I think about it, I do remember Hana asking for lunch orders a little bit ago_.

“It’s almost 4pm by the way,” Clinton replied, handing her the sandwich and sitting back down across from her.

_Oh..._

_Oops._

_Not so little bit ago._

“And that would be why I have a headache,” Kateri noted sheepishly. _You forgot to eat_. She occasionally had a bad habit of getting so totally absorbed in her work that she completely forgot to eat. Her partner usually fussed at her if he noticed that she hadn’t eaten in a while, and it was a testament to how busy the team was that she had forgotten to eat and that he had forgotten to check. “Oops.”

Clinton shook his head, pulling her laptop away, as he stood, “The files can wait for now. Eat your lunch. Finish your water.” The _then you can have your laptop back_ went unstated but was quite clear.

“Yes, mother,” Kateri replied around a mouthful of tuna, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

That smart-alack response got her a stern glare that lost all weight when her partner couldn’t keep the amusement out of his eyes. Clinton then headed back toward his own work station, still holding her laptop.

 _I love my team, but occasionally I want to strangle them at the same time_.

 _Well, if you actually remembered to eat consistently, he wouldn’t have to mother you_.

The getting fussed at or fussed over could be embarrassing at times on one hand, but having people who actually cared enough to fuss was … nice.

* * *

[1] Explained in FBI: MW 1x03 – Caesar.

[2] Explained in Cops vs. Feds: Wrongfully Arrested.


	3. Monday: Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Day 3 is extremely short and you, my faithful readers, are so very nice, you get two chapters today. Day 4 will come later this afternoon/evening.

Like most days on hunts, the next day dawned bright and early and after much too little sleep. Jess and Barnes left early to go talk with the local sales rep and returned with troubling news. The woman, a hot blonde and former exotic dancer, had revealed that the wholesale pharmacist for her area had just doubled his order of oxy, despite Brock having gone on the run just days before. The two being in business together was unlikely given the regulatory agencies. Thus, Jess had concluded that a robbery of those pills was likely forthcoming.

That shipment of oxy was being moved that night, which meant the team had little time to prepare and plan an ambush that would hopefully catch the Forsaken Sons in the act without netting more collateral damage in the process.

As usual, Jess’ instincts were spot on.

About 10pm, over half-a-dozen FBI cars, carrying the team and many other agents, pulled onto the grounds of the shipping company to find exactly what they expected to see. The moving truck carrying the Oxy was parked, its back open, the driver and security guard held at gunpoint. 8-10 bikers were moving the drugs from the truck to their own trucks, overseen by the boss himself.

Kenny, Kateri, and Clinton (driving) were all in the same car as they pulled onto the lot and screeched to a halt. She could see flashes of metal—probably guns—reflected in the headlights, as she jumped from the car. Her partner was on the opposite side of the car for the moment, so it was Kenny she joined up with as the FBI advanced on the gang members, guns drawn, shouting “FBI,” “Hand’s up,” “Let me see your hands!”, “Get down,” and all the variations thereof. The overwhelming odds worked in the team’s favor, and the bikers, including Rickman the gang leader himself, surrendered without a fight.

One by one, the bikers sunk to their knees, those with guns laying them down, lacing their fingers behind their heads.

Kateri could feel her pulse thrumming in her veins as she covered Kenny as he stepped forward to start cuffing suspects. Her own partner was … somewhere nearby, but for the moment she had to keep her focus on the here and now. The dangerous part was almost done, but relaxing before the raid was fully done could end in disaster.

Case-in-point, a few seconds later…

The sound of a revving motorcycle drowned out the voices of the FBI agents, and a motorcycle appeared from further into the complex, speeding around the truck still half-full of crates of oxy. Kateri was not in its path, but she felt her heart leap into her throat anyway.

Barnes, who was carrying a shotgun and not a pistol, gave further proof of why she was known as an excellent markswoman, taking out the motorcycle itself with one shot, after it nearly ran down one of the non-team FBI agents.

Kateri glanced over just long enough to keep situational awareness of the larger scene, while keeping her focus and gun trained on the bikers in front of her. Several of them were close enough that they could tackle her before she could get a shot off if her attention slipped long enough for them to get to their feet. As long as she was on her feet, she could hold her own, at least temporarily, in a fight against most opponents. Once she was downed, the greater weight and strength of the bikers would not tip the odds in her favor.

“Don’t move!” Yelled Jess, advancing on the downed motorcyclist, “Find Brock!”

Using her cuffs and his, Kenny got two of the gang members cuffed, while the other agents dealt with the rest. The gang members might have been neutralized with only one shot fired and no serious injuries, but the night was not over. The main objective of the raid had been to catch Brock, and there was no sign of him yet.

Once she was no longer need to cover Kenny, Kateri began to look around for her partner, as the entire group of agents began spreading out to search the surrounding area and hopefully locate Brock. It was dark, and the lack of lighting, except for the dazzling headlights from the cars, made it hard to find Clinton.

_One tall, dark-haired male in dark clothing looks about the same as any other in this bloody light._

_Come on, Clinton, where are you?_

Finally, a minute later, Kateri spotted him when he turned and a beam of light illuminated his face. He was standing by one of the vans, and she jogged over to join him, keeping her head on a swivel as she moved. Automatically, she looked him over for any obvious injuries, and she saw him doing the same as soon as her flash of movement caught his eye. After years together on the job and various injuries suffered by themselves and their teammates, looking over each other periodically had become force of habit. High on adrenaline, you could simply not notice an injury, as Kateri herself knew.

 _But we’re not going to talk about that … or think about that_. For a split second, her side ached in memory.

“Ready?” Clinton asked, as she took up her usual position by his side.

“Ready.”

The hunt was, unfortunately, unsuccessful. Clinton, Kateri, and the other agents looking for Brock scoured every inch of the surrounding warehouses and parking lots and found no sign of Brock. After a thorough search, they were forced to admit temporary defeat and return to the others.

“No sign of Brock,” Clinton informed Jess, who was standing in front of the row of kneeling Forgotten Sons members.

“Just these knuckleheads,” Kenny added sarcastically, “We’ve gotta put a finger on them, boss.”

Kateri gave a snort, as she holstered her gun and wiped sweaty palms on her pants. Despite the cool of the evening, running around clearing buildings while wearing 10 pounds of body armor was sweat-inducing and tiring.

Before Jess could respond, a call came over the comms, “This is Victor-Seven. I have a DB in a vehicle at Swiney and Glover. Looks like multiple GSWs.”

 _Swiney and Glover …. That’s pretty close to here_.

Kateri had studied the map of the area so long that afternoon she could almost see it when she closed her eyes and thought she almost might be able draw the thing freehand … if she had any artistic ability whatsoever ... which she did not.

The whole team trekked over the couple streets over to where a passel full of local cops had gathered around an SUV, its passenger side door still standing open. Barnes and Jess went towards the front, but Kateri stayed with her partner near the rear of the car.

“Door was like this? Open?” Jess asked.

“Yes, sir,” one of the cops replied.

Barnes was doing something in the car—what exactly Kateri couldn’t see from her angle—and then suddenly said, “9mm. The same caliber Brock uses.”

 _Bloody h**l. More collateral_.

* * *

All the gang members, including their boss, got hauled off to jail, and Jess and Barnes left to question Rickman, while the others returned to the bus. The usual cadre of cops and other agents that had been frequently at the bus over their stay at Windsor were absent, and all seemed strangely quiet as Clinton and Kenny parked the two cars.

Kateri climbed from the one car, muffling a face-breaking yawn behind one hand. The clock on the dashboard had said it was nearly 11:30pm, and it certainly felt like it was that late.

“I feel that,” joked Kenny, noticing her yawn.

Kateri gave a tired half-smile and then looked over at her partner, “Is there anything we’re actually supposed to be doing or need to be doing right now?”

 _Please say no. Please say no_. She felt half dead and wanted badly to get some sleep.

Clinton thought for a second as they made their way into the bus. “Not that I know of,” he finally replied with a shrug.

“Good,” Kateri replied, “then I’m going to sack out until the boss and Barnes get back.”

That decision was more than agreeable to all, but unfortunately there were only two beds—one small bunkbed in the back of the bus—as well as the one small, open corner where some of them, usually Kenny, could stretch out for quick cat-naps. With no one else in the van, they could also just stretch out on the floor and use their bags or jackets for pillows.

 _Just got to always remember to stay far enough away from the door that if someone comes back and doesn’t see you immediately, you don’t get stepped on_.

Straws were drawn to see who got the beds and who got the floor. Kateri and Kenny were the lucky ones and got the actual beds.

 _I know Kenny’s tired when he doesn’t make any jokes about Clinton pulling rank … or the age card … to get a bed and not the floor_.

_Not that Clinton would actually do that._

_It makes for a good joke, though_.

“Top or bottom?” Asked Kenny, as the two headed for the back of the bus.

“I’m smaller. I’ll take the top,” Kateri replied. She’d seen Kenny try to fold himself up to get into the top bunk before. It had been horrific to watch, and he’d banged his head multiple times in a few hours’ time. There had been much swearing involved that night.

“Have I ever told you I loved you?” Joked Kenny half-heartedly, shucking off his boots.

Kateri had already shucked off her own boots and placed them against the wall out of the way and was scrambling up the ladder, “Probably not since the last time I fed you.”

There was a single guffaw and a “sleep well,” and then all was silent, except for the soft noises of Hana and Clinton settling down outside the curtain that cordoned off the two small beds.

Having learned how to sleep whenever and wherever was possible, Kateri was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.


	4. Tuesday: Day 4

The bus door opening woke Kateri sometime later. It seemed like only a few minutes had passed since she had lain down, but when she tilted her watch under the wee little emergency light above her head, she saw that nearly three hours had passed.

A moment later there were soft voices outside the curtain. As she had guessed instinctively, the boss and Barnes were back. Even Kateri could not sit up all the way while in the top bunk, but she stretched the best she could and then wiggled down to the foot of the bed, so she could climb down. Kenny, who was usually a heavy sleeper (except when his PTSS was a special problem), was still asleep, eyes closed, face peaceful, sawing logs … loudly, as was also usual.

_His snoring took a bit of getting used to and a whole lot of patience._

_Now, I’m kinda used it._

_I even miss it occasionally._

Kateri stuffed her feet into her boots, not even bothering to untie them and then leaned down to wake Kenny as she tried to smooth down her hair with her other hand.

She tried just touching his shoulder, not totally sure how deeply he asleep and not wanting to startle him. That didn’t work.

Next, she tried shaking his shoulder gently. That didn’t work either. She tried shaking his shoulder more forcefully once. Still no joy.

 _Oh, for heaven’s sake_.

“Kenny,” she called his name softly and shook his shoulder more forcefully still, “Kenny. Wakey, wakey. Don’t make me get a bucket of water to dump on you.”

What did the trick, Kateri wasn’t sure, but finally Kenny woke with a start, eyes snapping open suddenly, startling them both.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice rough with sleep. He reached up to rub his eyes with two large paws.

“Nothing. All’s good,” Kateri was quick to reassure him, “The boss and Barnes are back. It’s about 2:30.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Kateri moved back to give him room to get out of bed, grabbed her jacket off the floor from where it had fallen from where she had hooked it over one of the bed poles, and stepped outside the curtain. Clinton, Barnes, and the boss were up and at ‘em, gathering around the conference table. Hana was awake but hadn’t bestirred herself from the floor yet.

 _From the look on the boss’ face, I can’t tell whether things went well or not_.

Another face-cracking yawn split Kateri’s face, and she half-muffled it behind one hand. _Bloody h**l, I need coffee … and more than three hours of sleep_.

 _At least you got three hours of sleep_.

The team had pulled lots of all-nighters before and, more rarely, multiple all-nighters in a row.

 _Those are the really bad days_.

Once Kenny and Hana were up and reasonably at ‘em, there was an impromptu briefing about what Rickman had said. It had taken so long to talk to him because of lawyers, lawyers, and more lawyers.

 _Lawyers can be so bloody annoying._ Her partner was really the only lawyer she knew of that she actually liked.

The questioning of Rickman, it seemed, reading between the lines from what Barnes and Jess were explicitly not saying, had not gone that well. Rickman had revealed that Brock’s wife had wanted a divorce—before Brock had had her killed—and that she had known about the pill-mill business. Mrs. Brock had threatened to cough up what she knew about said shady side-business if she didn’t get a cut. Brock had refused to “split his empire with her” and then had had her offed. What was worse was that, despite all of Mrs. Brock’s outwardly good deeds, she had not even been bothered by her husband’s work, as long as he and Rickman did stuff to benefit the vets.

_Talk about hypocrisy! The drug crisis is affecting vets, too, for pity’s sake!!_

That had been about the extent of Rickman’s help. He had refused to help with finding Brock or to cough up any information about the doc’s next move. _Not surprising. Brock could try to cut himself a deal by turning Queen’s … no, no, no state’s evidence_. Kateri had been born in Quebec and lived there early in her life and had spent some time there periodically after she turned 18, and she still sometimes thought of things in Commonwealth, not American, terminology.

Nothing more could be done until morning, so everyone was going to get some more rest for a few more hours.[1] There were now two beds and the floor for six people, and Kateri, who had already gotten a few hours’ sleep, gave up her bed to Barnes who had had no sleep. Kenny did the same for Jess.

The aisles were wide enough that two could lie down abreast, so Kateri and Hana settled down on the side of the main door in the kitchen area nearest the beds and Clinton and Kenny on the other side.

Kateri curled up on her left side, her back to Hana. The aisle was not that wide, and Hana was known to flop like a fish. _And I have no wish to get smacked in the face if she does_. Kateri had folded up her leather jacket to use as a pillow and was using her fleece jacket as a blanket. She had left on her boots this time but had removed her gun and left it next to her head, just out of hand-bump range. Kateri rarely, if ever, flopped and almost always slept with one hand tucked under her head and the other under her chin.

Kateri starred at the fridge door a few inches in front of her for a while, before Hana hissed at her to “stop thinking so loudly,” and finally with a smile on her face, Kateri fell asleep again.

* * *

Someone trying to walk extremely, extremely quietly roused Kateri from sleep some indeterminate amount of time later. The bus was still dark and mostly quiet, except for Kenny snoring, and the others still seemed to be asleep. She half-rolled over, blearily looking around.

 _Oh … only you, boss_.

Jess squatted between Hana and Kateri, patted Kateri’s shoulder with a soft “It’s okay. Go back to sleep,” and then readjusted Hana’s jacket, which she had been using for a blanket but had half-slipped onto the floor as she flopped in her sleep.

Kateri let her eyes slip shut again and rolled back over and was quickly asleep again. It seemed like her eyes had just closed, when a hand gently shook her shoulder. It was her partner this time, not Jess.

“Up you go, kid,” Clinton said, once she had rolled onto her back and he saw that she was actually awake, not half-awake and prime to go straight back to sleep as soon as he stepped away.

 _Granted that’s not usually a problem with me_.

Hana was rousing—kinda—apparently having been woken first. Jess was sitting at the conference table working and apparently had been up for some time. _Probably since I woke last, whenever that was_. Clinton’s computer was set up, too, and from the look of him, he had been up for some time, too. Kenny had just pushed himself to his feet. Only Barnes was missing, maybe still asleep in the back.

_Whoever decided to let us youngins sleep, thank you!_

Kateri sat up and slipped her fleece jacket back on, zipping it to her chin. After another minute, Hana pushed herself upright with a groan and a sigh, rubbing her eyes and muttering something in a half-begging tone that was probably to be interpreted as a plea for coffee. Hana was not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. Application of coffee, usually copious amounts thereof, was usually necessary to help get her moving in the morning with a limited amount of grumbling.

“Barnes is off getting coffee,” her partner inserted from back at the table, “she should be back soon.”

The bus had its own coffeemaker, but sometimes real coffee was especially appreciated.

_Like after short nights and early mornings._

_Oh, that’s where she is._

_How on earth did I sleep through that?_

_What time is it anyway?_

Kateri glanced down at her watch. It was almost 6:30. _Time to get moving_. Kenny was eying her somewhat surreptitiously anyway. She had made her make-shift bed in front of the kitchen area, which meant she was blocking his access to the fridge, the microwave, and the food cabinets. _Do not stand between Kenny Crosby and food_. He was hungry and wanted breakfast, but he was too polite to roust her … yet.

 _Up you go._ Kateri got her legs underneath herself and pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her eyes. She leaned down and grabbed her other jacket that she had been using for a pillow and then stepped out of Kenny’s way.

“Thanks,” he said, “Want some oatmeal?” It was general, all-encompassing question to, apparently, the whole bus. There were bowls and packets of instant oatmeal in one of the cabinets and a huge bottle of water on the counter. It wasn’t all that more complicated to make multiple bowls of oatmeal than one. It just took longer to run everything through the microwave.

“Sure. Thanks.” Kateri was the only one who wanted some.

Less than ten minutes later, Barnes returned with coffee for everyone but Jess, and there was fresh hot water for tea for him. Kateri noticed with astonishment as the door opened to admit her that there was now a different parking lot outside than she remembered from the previous night.

_Apparently, I slept through a lot of things._

_Are we even still in Windsor?_

_It doesn’t really matter for the moment, I guess_.

Coffee was passed around to all and most gratefully received, especially by Hana who was back at her computer working but still looking somewhat bleary eyed.

Kenny got sidetracked, so it was not until Barnes had gotten back that he finished making the oatmeal and handed Kateri her oatmeal. _He didn’t give me the horrid apple kind. Yay._ Now that everyone was awake and in the process of being fed and caffeinated, Clinton had started checking over his rifle scope, so Kateri sank down beside him on the floor to eat. Simultaneously, the discussion returned to Brock, his dastardly deeds, and his future plans.

“Lost his accomplices,” said Jess, as he began to fix his tea, “On his own. He’ll run out of moves.”

“He served in Bosnia,” countered Kenny, leaning against the wall, oatmeal still in hand, “Probably not the first tight spot he’s been in.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jess noted, putting away the honey and pulling out his phone, “He’s grown used to his comforts. … Hey.”

Kenny returned to his seat at the conference table, propping his feet up on the table, his computer balanced in his lap. If Kateri had actually been sitting at the table and IF he hadn’t had his computer balanced in his lap, she would have been tempted to kick his chair. _Boys, seriously! Feet go on the floor!_

Both Clinton and Kateri looked up at the boss’ “hey,” but after a second, Kateri realized that he wasn’t speaking to her, so she went back to eating, studiously studying her oatmeal in case a semi-private conversation was forthcoming. When you lived for days on end in each other’s personal space, you had to get good about developing selective hearing.

“Want to see Tali out in the back field?” Jess asked, extending his phone, “Your father took it yesterday afternoon.”

Discussions of pictures of Tali were always safe things to listen in on, and Kateri shoved another bite of oatmeal into her mouth and then twisted to get a quick glance at the phone. _Awwwwwww_.

“Every day after school she’s out there looking for this bird we released. She’s a funny one,” Jess continued.

Clinton tilted the phone so his partner could get a better look. It was a really good picture of Tali the way the sun silhouetted her and lit up her features and brown hair.

Barnes, like any doting mother, was happy to get on the picture train. “Are we doing photos?” She asked, pulling out her own phone, “Here is Anais at the park the other Sunday. She loved the ducks. She wanted to go swimming with ‘em.”

Jess took the phone and studied the picture, “I remember when Tali was that age. It’s … well, special, right?”

Then, in a display of what Kateri would have called ironically terrible timing, Hana asked, turning from her computer, “I’ve got a live-feed of my clownfish. Wanna see?”

Kateri would have face-palmed if her hands hadn’t been full of breakfast.

_Really, Hana?_

_You need more coffee_.

_What is a clownfish anyway?_

Kenny, of course, could not let the opportunity to tease Hana pass by. “I wanna see him,” he called from the other end of the bus, “covered in beer-batter and deep fried.”

That put the kibosh on the joking. “Shut-up,” Hana replied, her good mood squashed.

 _I think you went a little bit overboard, Kenny_!

Clinton was still starring at the picture on Jess’ phone, and he had gotten that look on his face that Kateri usually associated with him thinking about his little sister.

 _May she find peace!_ If her hands had not been full of food, Kateri would have crossed herself quickly.

“I don’t think it’s about the bird, bro,” he replied quietly, handing back Jess’ phone and then going to put his scope away.

Before more could be said, Hana made the breakthrough, and the clues started pouring in, all pointing toward Richmond, VA, and a potential mistress of Brock’s.

 _I guess we’re off to Virginia then._

_At least it’s not DC._

_We’ll still probably have to fly._

_Ugh._

* * *

As luck would have it, only Barnes and the boss went to VA to pay a visit to Brock’s probable mistress, leaving the rest of the team in New York to keep things running there. The two had driven, and it was a 6-hour drive one-way, so they wouldn’t be back before the next day.

After Barnes and the boss had left, the others wrapped up their work in the Windsor-area and then drove back to New York City in their cars, letting one of the other support staff bring the bus back. It was lunch time when they arrived in the city, so they all scattered to their own places long enough to take showers and get a fresh change of clothes and some food, and then they all reformed at HQ to work.

Late that evening, an update came about the trip to VA:

  * The possible mistress was actually Brock’s college-age daughter by his first wife.
  * The daughter—Meghan Curtis—was quite critical of Lilian Brock, was convinced of her father’s innocence, and was vocal about how lucky she was to have such a humble, hero for a father.
  * A clue from the conversation with Curtis had led them to Norfolk where Brock’s parents were living, his father being a Vietnam vet.
  * The mother knew zilch about her son being in the service, getting deployed to Bosnia, or even winning a Bronze Star.



Barnes and the boss were going to drive back up in the morning, and in the meantime, the boss wanted Hana to start hunting down Brock’s service record to see what was going on with that.

_To be in the service or not in the service, that is the question._

* * *

[1] The exact timing of events in this episode and the sequence of days is sometimes hard to follow and does not always make sense the way the series has laid it out. The days and nights do not always match up the clock inside the bus either. Considering the way things often work with cops and lawyers, I have made a reasonable guess at the amount of time that it took for the raid where Rickman was captured and the questioning of Rickman by Barnes and Jess. The death of Brock’s faithful patient happens at some point the same night, and the next scene in the bus where the photos of the kids are shown off, I am moving that to the morning after the raid, instead of the next evening. The fact that Kenny is also eating oatmeal—a usual breakfast food—also makes this time choice work reasonably well.

Redoing the timeline would also necessitate rewriting the end of Day 3 and most of Day 4, and I’d rather not do that.


	5. Wednesday: Day 5

Barnes and the boss arrived back at HQ about 10am, just as Kenny and Kateri were arriving, bearing coffee for all. Given that it was a 6 to 7-hour drive from Norfolk to New York City, their arrival time meant they had left in the wee hours of the morning and probably traded off driving. Somehow, they both looked with it.

 _Ugh._ Clinton and Kateri had done the same before out of necessity, but Kateri hated driving all night with a passion.

“You would not believe the hoops I had to jump through…,” Hana exclaimed, pushing open the doors to the parking garage with a thump that made Kateri flinch in surprise.

_Did you sleep here last night?_

Hana had still been working at her computers when Kateri had gone home about midnight to get some sleep. There were beds in the team’s space, so she would not have had to sleep in her chair or on the hard, cold concrete floor or something equally awful.

_And exactly how much coffee have you had to be this energetic on probably a very short night’s sleep?_

“…to get his service records!” Hana was continuing, as they all made their way inside, “Brock was enlisted in ’95. After four months he was medically discharged with something called optic neuritis.”

 _An eye inflammation?? How in all the bloody blue blazes do you get yourself discharged for a bloody eye inflammation?_ Whenever it came to this low-life doc, Kateri was not exactly feeling charitable.

_Some antibiotics and you should be as right as bloody rain!!_

“Sounds serious,” Barnes replied, setting her bag down in one of the chairs at the conference table, while the others scattered to various seats around the room.

_Eh, not necessarily._

Hana shook her head, agreeing with Kateri’s unspoken thoughts, “It’s just an infection. Couple of months on steroids, and you’re back in business.”

Grabbing a cup of coffee from the stash that she and Kenny had brought, Kateri perched on the edge of the conference table and looked around for her partner.

 _I saw his car, but I don’t see him._ Clinton was like a ninja sometimes. He had inadvertently scared the living daylights out of her more than once when he appeared out of nowhere so quietly that she’d never heard him coming. After he nearly got punched once, he’d learned to be a whole lot more careful.

“It’s an off-route of boot-camp,” Kenny explained further, settling down on the other end of the couch from Jess. He shook his head, lip curling, “Brock couldn’t hack it.”

_He wanted the glory without the effort … or the pain … or the sacrifice._

_“No sacrifice, no victory,” that was one thing those awful Transformers movies got right … besides the awesome music._

“He never went back?” Questioned the boss, his brow pinched in thought.

“No record he did,” replied Hana from over by her desk.

_Now isn’t that interesting…_

“Stolen valor,” growled Kenny, face darkening. He always took such things quite personally, “That son-of-a-b***h pretended to be a veteran to impress his wife.”

_And one in the same unit as you…_

_Soldiers … you’re supposed to have each other’s back._

_Not fake it until you make it and claim what others died for._

_Land of the free ‘CAUSE of the brave._

_It’s a betrayal of the highest order._

Hana pulled a folder from the stack of files covering her desk— _how do you find anything in that pile?_ —and brandished it in the air. “I think she was on to him. I found an FOI request,” she said, rolling her chair toward the couch and passing the folder to Jess, “in this file from her from a month ago. She was looking for his military record.”

The sound of a door opening drew Kateri’s attention away from the conversation with a start. Her head snapped up, and she tensed automatically at the sudden noise. _Oh, there you are_. It was just her partner, entering from the parking garage, phone in one hand, a grave look on his face. Kateri relaxed physically, even as her brain automatically catalogued his expression and concluded _Oh, dear, this won’t be good_.

“The veteran she fell in love with,” said Barnes, perched on the arm of the sofa, “that explains the divorce…”

“State cops,” Clinton broke in, waggling his phone, “It’s about one of Brock’s patients.”

_Oh, bloody h**l. This definitely won’t be good._

Good news, Clinton most certainly did not have. He had just heard from the state cops that Leslie Varick, one of Brock’s most loyal patients and the one who had revealed the existence of the Pennsylvania clinic, had been found dead in a parking lot on the outskirts of the city early that morning. A needle had been found in her arm, and her car was missing. She had been abandoned like a piece of trash.

 _Whatever bad choices she made that led her into this, she didn’t deserve that. No one does_.

The team went down to the coroner’s office to see the body and try to determine what had happened and how the situation might or might not connect back to Brock. With a known junkie, the circumstances could be a coincidence, but given that she was also one of Brock’s most loyal patients, the circumstances were highly suspicious.

Lt. Ruddick of the New York State Police met the team there and gave them an update on the case. “She was found early this morning dead of an overdose,” she explained, “Her car is missing. Syringe was still in her arm with a partial thumb print belonging to Brock.”

Kateri lingered at the back of the room next to Kenny who had his phone pressed to his ear, talking to someone. The lingering smell of chemicals and the faintest scent of decay in the room were getting to her, making her stomach a little uneasy.

 _The sooner we get out of here, the better_.

“He killed her for her car,” Barnes said in a low tone, starring at the body of the dead woman, “He didn’t have to do that.”

_Brock is a heartless, self-obsessed narcissist. All that matters is what helps him. He doesn’t care about the collateral._

_Actually, he might have a heart. It’s just only interested in me, myself, I, and the royal we._

“His patients are just things to him. Obstacles,” Jess growled. He turned towards the door, and Kateri noticed that a teenager girl was now sitting, hunched over, in a chair in the hallway. _That must be a Varick’s kid. Poor thing._ Kateri knew what it was to lose a parent unexpectedly … _though not like this_. Jess slid open the room door and stepped outside to speak with the girl.

There was a long moment of silence, and Kateri breathed shallowly through her noise, trying to think of anything but the smell of the chemicals.

“Hey,” her partner suddenly said, turning back toward the group. He had been studying his phone for several minutes and paying little attention to the ongoing conversation, “Her car was just found abandoned outside Harrisburg. Smart. He’s mixing it up.”

“I’ll get video footage from bus stations in that area,” Hana added, fingers starting to whir across her tablet.

There was a soft noise, and then Jess reappeared at the cubical door.

“Boss,” said Kenny, looking up from his own phone, “Just got the phone dumps off of Meghan’s cell. The last two days, she got three calls from a burner in New York.”

“That’s got to be Brock,” Kateri and Clinton said at the exact same time. They glanced at each other and smiled. It wasn’t the first time they’d both had the same thought at the same time.

 _We’re rather good at this reading-each-other’s-mind partner thing_.

It greatly amused their teammates when the two did that, especially on the rare occasions when they were able to hold a full conversation with half-sentences and facial expressions, catching on to where the other was going so that they did not need to fully spell things out.

 _We’ve had three years to perfect it_.

Kenny agreed, “And get this, the same burner is coming from Maryland. He’s heading south towards her.”

* * *

Now that the team knew where Brock was and where he was headed, they could try to get ahead of him. There was just one big problem. Brock was already in Maryland, and the team was still in New York. It was a 5 to 6-hour car trip to get to Richmond, but it was only a 90-minute flight by jet. They would have to use the plane to get ahead of him.

With a long-distance case ongoing, the jet was on stand-by to be ready in short order, and about as soon as the team could get to the airport—which admittedly would take a little while in mid-day New York traffic—the jet would be ready to go. Their support staff would drive the bus down to Virginia, but it would not arrive there until the evening.

“You okay?” Clinton asked, glancing over at his partner as he followed Jess’ car down the highway toward the airport, “You were looking a bit green back there at the ME’s office.”

“I’m fine,” Kateri replied, making a face, “The chemicals were just getting to me.”

_I despise setting foot in ME offices._

Clinton nodded sympathetically, “And you’re going to be okay with flying?” It was her partner’s usual tactful way of asking if her claustrophobia might be a problem.

Kateri thought for a moment before she replied. She didn’t like the idea of flying— _I rarely, if ever, do, though_ —but the mere thought of it wasn’t sending her into a tailspin either. “I’m okay right now. No triggers on this case so far, and no extenuating circumstances like the other week, either, so I think I’m alright for now.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

In the three or so years since Kateri had joined the team, flying had spawned four panic attacks. She was not exactly keen on going for number five.

“I will,” she replied, grateful for having a partner who looked out for her.

The flight to Richmond was thankfully short and trouble free, and there was plenty of work to be done during it to keep Kateri’s mind off of the fact that she was inside a small enclosed metal cylinder with no exits until they landed. Her teammates were quietly considerate nonetheless, checking unobtrusively on her from time to time, trying to keep her distracted, and occasionally patting/squeezing her shoulder—or patting her head and messing up her hair, _thank you Kenny_ —as they went by.

Cars and personnel from the Richmond Field Office were waiting for them when they landed about 3pm. Barnes and the boss left straightway to go to the University of Richmond to track down Meghan and, hopefully, with the help of Brock’s very slim service record, get her to finally comprehend some hard truths. The two were finally able to track Meghan down in the university library, but despite seeing her father’s service record, she was unwilling to admit what was staring her in the face or to help the team in any way.

Once the bus arrived around dinner time, having made an unusually fast trip down, the team was able to get more work done faster with the access to the extra equipment in the bus. There was no further helpful information from Brock’s phone records off his burner or from Meghan’s, but a deep dive on her financial records revealed something very interesting: an investment account under her name at a local firm.

Finding out what was up with that had to wait until the next day, unfortunately, considering the hour, so the team got two hotel rooms and settled in for a short night.

The hunt was fast coming to a close, but there was much more work to be done before they could hopefully slap the cuffs on Brock.

Kateri much preferred that to the alternative: putting him in a body-bag.

Brock being dead would remove one piece of scum from the world, but it would prevent the fallen from getting justice.


	6. Thursday: Day 6

Morning, as usual on hunts, came bright and early, and after several hours of work, the team scattered to their various tasks around 9am. Barnes, Hana, and the boss left to deal with the investment office. Kenny left to sit on Meghan’s place in case Brock showed up unexpectedly and Clinton and Kateri headed off to the University of Richmond to shadow Meghan herself during her classes in case she did something or Brock tried to come after her there.

_Going after her on campus risks being seen, but better to be safe than sorry._

Meghan’s first class on Thursday was in a small, old brick building that conveniently only had two entrances/exits one on either end of the building. Thus, once they knew Meghan was inside and in class, Clinton settled down to ‘read’ the newspaper and watch one end, while Kateri did the same with a book at the other end.

“You know,” Kateri mused after about twenty minutes, as she idly flipped a page in the book she really wasn’t reading. _Lord of the Rings_ was one of her favorite fantasy novels, so she could have told you what the story was about anyway. She’d certainly read it plenty of time, even wearing out her first set of cheap paperbacks.

 _Stakeouts, to which this is similar, are hours of boredom interspersed with minutes of actually doing something productive towards a case_.

“What?” Her partner replied. They had comms running between them, but their earpieces were simple blue-tooth-looking earwigs, instead of the usual, police-esque ear pieces, to be less noticeable.

 _I think he sounds as bored as I am_.

“I think this might be the first time I’ve been on a college campus in a decade.”

_I don’t think I’ve been at a college since I graduated, not even for work._

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Clinton replied.

_Ehhhhh … sometimes about college were nice … others not so nice._

“I’d have to think about that.”

The only reply was an answering snort of amusement.

One long and boring hour later, Meghan exited that one building and headed off to her next class. A few minutes after Kateri and Clinton had gotten set up outside the next building, their teammates’ voice appeared over the comms, as they patched themselves in to give a status update about the trip to the investment office.

The three accounts had been opened by Brock about three years before, and between them all, there was almost two million dollars in them, two million bucks gained from his drug operations and pill-mills.

 _No wonder Brock’s headin’ this way. One cash source gone, and he wants access to this windfall_.

_Bloody h**l, he’s not going to stop until he gets that money._

Meghan had never contacted the investment company about the accounts set up in her name, and Barnes had noted that she probably did not know about the accounts, given her concern about finding a job to support herself.

To make the situation potentially worse, Brock was not able to access the money himself. He needed Meghan to get to the money.

 _And thus, his real reason for coming is finally revealed_.

Brock needed the money to escape, and he had already proved that the lives of his family meant nothing to him when his own skin was on the line.

_Oh, joooooyyyyyyy._

_This is going to be interesting._

* * *

Meghan finished classes for the day around lunchtime and then headed home for the rest of the day. Kateri and Clinton joined Kenny in sitting on her house and watching the area, while Barnes and the boss went to make one last attempt to get Meghan to help.

This attempt was finally successful. With the information about her father’s drug money starring her in the face and his lack of care for her when she was trying to scrape by, Meghan finally caved, finally accepted the truth, and agreed to help.

The next step in the plan was removing the money from the investment accounts to draw Brock out of hiding. The whole team, except for Clinton and Kateri who were sitting on Meghan’s place, reformed at the bus. Kateri knew that, once Brock realized what had happened to his money, his reaction was going to be explosive and dangerous and, thus, they needed to be here waiting for him. She still regretted not getting to see Hana in her element, doing her thing.

 _It’s always fun to watch_ , Kateri mused to herself, alternating scanning the block and checking for movement around Meghan’s house, _Almost as much fun as watching_ _Clinton go all lawyerly on someone_.

Once the funds had been wired from Meghan’s accounts, it was less than two hours before a call came from Brock. Hana got to do what Hana did best, and Brock’s reaction was, as the team expected, explosive and unprintable. His arrogance had worked in the team’s favor, as Jess succinctly put it, and Brock never saw the trap coming.

As soon as the trap was set, the whole team reformed on Meghan’s house. She was given a Kevlar vest and primed on how to react, what to say, and then it came time to wait. Again.

 _Hours of boredom interspersed with moments of action … or terror_.

Kateri was looking forward to this case being over. Brock being dead or arrested would mean one less criminal on the street. Getting more than a couple hours of sleep most nights and sleeping in her own bed would also be a plus.

It was late afternoon when Brock made his move.

Meghan was working in her front yard, making adjustments to one of the chains on her bicycle as well as doing other routine maintenance. To most any observer, the scene looked completely normal, and Meghan seemed calm and untroubled, as if there was no trouble looming on the horizon.

Clinton and Kateri were parked at one end of the street, when suddenly a black pickup turned the corner at a high rate of speed.

 _Here we go_.

“On the pickup!” Clinton warned the others.

“Copy.”

Clinton did not manage to get their car out in time to block Brock’s path down the street, but Kenny, coming from the opposite direction in a much heftier SUV, took up the gauntlet, almost playing a game of chicken with the dastardly doctor. At the last moment, Brock turned sharply to avoid colliding with Kenny, and Kenny and Clinton were forced to do their own fancy driving to avoid colliding with each other.

 _Bloody h**l!_ Kateri swore silently, seeing the SUV oncoming at a high rate of speed.

“Hang on,” shouted Clinton, spinning the wheel left.

_Already doing so!!!!!!_

The two cars screeched to a halt safely, but the trouble was not over. Brock’s truck had gone straight across multiple yards and through some greenery, ending up in Meghan’s front yard, much, much, much too close to the girl herself.

Clinton and Kateri were the furthest from the scene, and by the time they joined the others, guns drawn, Brock already had one arm around Meghan’s neck and was holding a gun to her head.

“Get out of my way! She’s coming with me!” Brock yelled, despite being faced with half-a-dozen armed FBI agents and having no path of escape.

Kateri swore viciously inside her own head, as she surveyed the scene. Meghan and Brock were almost exactly the same height, and they were so close together that if someone tried to take the shot to take out Brock, Meghan could just as easily be hit as Brock.

 _This was not how this plan was supposed to go_.

“Let her go, doctor!” Ordered Jess calmly but firmly.

“You set me up?” Brock exclaimed. He was turning and turning and turning, dragging Meghan around with him, trying to keep an eye on the whole scene. “Your own father?”

_You wouldn’t exactly earn father-of-the-year award!!!_

The gun was pressed more firmly against Meghan’s unprotected neck.

“Talk to me, doc!”

“I’m not going to jail for this,” replied Brock.

_Well, you won’t be a loss to the world if you end up in a body bag._

“Let her go, and we can talk,” said Jess, trying to negotiating, trying to calm the situation down.

_No collateral damage._

Kateri took a step to one side, moving a little way from her partner’s side, while trying not to crowd Hana on her left at the same time. Kateri wanted to try to get a better angle on Brock and get Barnes out of her line of fire.

 _He’s encircled. He’s going nowhere, but our lines of fire aren’t clear this way_. She swore again.

“No, no, she’s coming with me,” Brock replied, backing up several steps, dragging Meghan with him.

Then the whole plan went sideways in an instance. _Even more sideways._

Putting her physical training from ROTC to good use, Meghan twisted out of her father’s hold, knocked him to the ground, got hold of the gun, and ended up straddling his back holding the gun to the back of his head. It all happened in an instant.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no_.

Suddenly, Meghan had become the aggressor, and Brock was now the hostage. Guns were adjusted to target Meghan.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no_.

_Please don’t make us shoot you, kid._

_Please don’t do this!!!!_

Kateri felt a lead weight settle in her stomach as the scene was totally flipped sideways. She had been forced to use her weapon too many times in her career, but the last thing she—or any of the others—wanted to do was be forced to kill a college-age kid distraught over her father’s betrayal.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” Meghan’s face was anguished. Seeing the physical evidence of what a deadbeat her father had been and still was, that was one thing. Having him hold a gun to your head was another.

“Meghan, don’t!” Jess almost begged.

“I looked up to you,” Meghan continued, speaking directly to her father, not seeming to hear the pleas of the agents.

 _Come on, kid. Put the gun down. You don’t want to do this_.

Kateri kept her gun trained on the side of Meghan’s head. She was close enough for a head-shot, even though that was the last thing she wanted to have to do. A head-shot would kill you quickly, but splattering brains across the grass was a horrible sight.

“You were my hero,” Meghan was almost in tears, “It was all fake.”

“Listen to me,” said Jess, trying again to get through to her.

Meghan still didn’t seem to hear, “Everything that I am, you took from me when you lied. I have nothing.” Her grip on the gun tightened.

The knot in Kateri’s stomach tightened in reflex. _Don’t make us do this. Please, God!_

“Meghan, listen to me!” Jess took another step forward and then suddenly holstered his gun, “You can get that back…”

Finally, Meghan reacted to what was going on around her, looked up, shook her head. Kateri was at just the right angle to get a decent sight of her face, see the look in her eyes. Grief, fear, and betrayal warred with a look that the agent interpreted as “what do I have to lose?”

Jess crouched, “But not if you kill him. You lose it all forever.”

 _Come on, kid. Listen to him. Please_.

Brock then picked the exact wrong time to speak, “Meghan, please don’t. I’m sorry.” Given the gun an inch from his head, sincerity was less of a motive than preserving his own skin.

“Shut up!” Meghan screamed, “Shut up!” Her grip on the gun, which had started to relax as she started to respond to Jess’ words, started to deescalate, tightened.

“Look at me, Meghan,” Jess kept on trying to get through to the girl.

Finally, she responded, looking up, looking towards him.

“You’re graduating soon,”[1] said Jess, voice low and emphatic. He was finally getting through to her, “You did that. You did the work, not him. You’re starting a new life, your life, a good life. Don’t let your anger at him take that away from you. You’re going to be okay. Just give me the gun.”

Meghan finally broke. Her posture relaxed. The gun moved away from Brock’s head. She ejected the magazine and wracked the slide to clear the chamber and then clambered off of her father’s back.

If Kateri had had a hand free, she would have kissed her cross in relief. She had to settle for a hurried but thankful prayer.

Kenny and Clinton holstered their guns and hurried forward to deal with Brock. Guns still drawn, Hana and Kateri covered them, until the doctor was restrained, cuffed, and then dragged to his feet.

Barnes helped Meghan to her feet and then led her away.

Once Brock had been thoroughly and not so gently searched for other weapons, Jess stated, “Justin Brock, you are under arrest pursuant to a federal fugitive warrant.”

“You like uniforms so much,” hissed Kenny, who always took stolen valor incidents personally, “we’ve got a nice pretty orange one you actually deserve.”

_Kinda poetic justice, I think. Or at least, karamic._

Kateri bit her lip to keep from snickering and then took several steps back to clear the way for Kenny and her partner to force Brock away to one of the waiting cars.

“What’s on the menu for the flight home?” Jess asked Hana, once Brock had been sent away and Meghan had been settled and de-geared.

“Local specialties,” Hana replied, “sweet potato soup and spoon bread. We’ll pick it up on the way to the plane.”

“We’ll try and save you some,” Joked Kenny, passing the boss on his other side.

Kateri had been making for her and Clinton’s car as the discussion of dinner happened, and her steps carried out of hearing range before she could hear what Jess wanted when he called Kenny back.

_What on earth is sweet potato soup and spoon bread?_

Kateri was perched on the hood of the car, still mulling over the menu for dinner, when her partner joined her and leaned on the hood beside her. The others had not finished their respective tasks quite yet, so they were still waiting to leave for the airport together.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Her partner asked.

“Hmmm?” His words drew her attention back to the present and away from her cogitating about food.

“You look like you bit into a lemon.”

Kateri laughed, reaching up to push a loose strand of hair behind one ear, “I overheard Hana telling the boss what was for dinner on the flight open, and I’m trying to decide what on earth we’re about to get to eat and whether I need to start negotiating with Kenny for access to his powerbar stash.”

One eyebrow went up, and now Clinton looked slightly skeptical … _or maybe worried_. “Okay. What is for dinner?” Their propensity for getting local specialties for dinner meant that the team had occasionally ended up with weird food or semi-normal food from weird places as well as perfectly normal food from known-quantity chains. No one had ever gotten sick, thankfully, but Kateri had occasionally ended the meal wanting to scrape the taste of the food off of her tongue with a fork.

“Sweet-potato soup and spoon-bread,” Kateri replied, “I know what spoons are, and I know what bread is, but what do the two have to do each other? And why would you put a sweet potato in soup??”

“Oh, okay,” Clinton relaxed, which made Kateri relax. He had normal taste in food, _unlike some other people on this team_ , and if he thought sweet-potato soup and spoon-bread was decent, she probably wouldn’t find it that bad.

_Hopefully._

“Should I be worried?” Kateri asked to confirm.

Her partner shook his head, “Despite the unusual name, spoonbread is basically just cornbread, and I’ve seen you eat that before. Sweet potato soup is a little odd, but as long as whoever is making it doesn’t overdo the spices, it’s not bad.”

“Whewwww,” Kateri sighed with a half-grin, “I’ve had enough fast-food and powerbars for the last few days. Real food will be good.”

Doors slamming nearby drew their conversation to a halt. The others were loading up. It was time to go.

“Ready?” Clinton asked.

“Yep,” Kateri replied, “Let’s go home.” 

* * *

[1] Given the release of Wally at the beginning of the episode, I have changed the date of this episode to fit more neatly with the timeline established in “Most Wanted” (FBI 1x18). Thus, this episode takes place in March, not May.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flying Fridges is next and then FBI: MW 1x02 Defender.


End file.
